File Under: Missing Persons

It was an unnatural February day in Philadelphia. First, because the temperature reached 60 degrees. Second, because the remains of [Redacted] [Redacted] Ryan lay shattered on the grungy floor of a tacky tiki tavern.

I was sent to the scene of a suspected Missing Persons early in evening. Witnesses were surprisingly pliant--natural garrulousness paired with fermented liquid loosed their tongues. Also, apparently, their clothing. Many were down to leis and shells alone by my arrival.

The following is an account of the night of 2/23/17, from approximately 8PM EST to 8PM PST, as pieced together through their slurred testimonies and my own observations.

***

The evening started with vaguely erotic alleyway striptease, performed by a stripper under the pseudonym “Goose.” Reports indicate one “Dix” dropping his/her panties immediately. Presumably, these were then collected by the group’s resident “Pantyphile,” but reports vary.

As willing as they were to talk, interviewing these people proved complicated by their constant use of assumed names, as well as their seeming inability to interact like humans.

“Ma’am, Just where is Ryan at this point?”“One of the virgins was so fancy! Suit shirt and tie! What a virgin move!!!”“That was not the questi--wait, sorry, do you label people based on their sexual experiences?”“OMG, caaaaaaaar! Don’t get dead!”​There was something strange going on here, I was sure of it.

***

They ran. Not fast. Not far. Not in any particular direction.

But they ran. In this business, we call that suspicious. Suspicious enough that a fellow lawman took the cue to stop, fittingly, one “Stop & Fuck.” The officer was shaken by his encounter. I didn’t have the heart to ask whether the suspect lived up to his alias.

Meanwhile, I attempted to speak with more of them.

“Sir, could you recount what you know about about Ryan, Just the facts, if you please.”“Can I get a note please?”“Sorry, what?”“IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII FUCKED A DEAD WHORE BY THE ROADSIDE”“Wait, WHAT?”“I knew very well she was dead,”“...okay, but…”“The skin was all gone from her body,The hair was all gone from her head!”“Uhm. Right, but…”“And after the fucking was over,To atone for my terrible sin,”“Oh no. Please stop.”“I anchored my lips to her asshole,And sucked out the wad I shot INNNNNNNNNN!”​“...I think I’ll leave that case to a different detective.”

There’s something wrong with these people.

***

It was shortly after this that their verbal oddities began manifesting physically.

“Virgins” were shamed for pointing, instead instructed to gesture only with elbows [Note: google “dabbing,” see if relevant?]. One member was accused of “causing blindness” after an unsuccessful striptease. Upon reaching a glyph scribbled by those that came before [Reminder: look into whether “Hares” are a deity of some sort?], the group formed a circle--jostling each other by their crotches--and squated into a groaning and shouting “human centipede.”

​I’ve been at this job for many a year, but… but I could neither look away, nor bring myself to truly see the horror in front of me.

***

Alcohol was consumed, again. The location marked, again, by scrawled messages on the pavement. The consumption ritualistic, again.

They set out. I follow, still under the illusion that speaking to them would be useful.

“Ma’am, I’m really Just interested in the whereabouts of Ryan.”A whistle blared. Shouting. Runners shifting directions.“Just tell me what you know about Ryan.”A man Jumped wildly in front of us.“JUST what happened to RYAN, ma’am?!”Her response was meaningless. “OOOOOOON INNNNNNNNNN!”​I began to despair.

***

Tiki Bar again. The kitsch was an assault on the eyes. The darkness I sensed in their group began to overwhelm me. Shouts. Code words. Chanting. Some hidden object centered in the hoard. Forced revelations. A suspicious affinity for llamas. Leaders provoking further frenzy. Even I felt myself being carried away with a spirit [Question: benevolent, or malevolent?] as the evening careened forward. The energy frenetic, the shouting coalescing into sects. A veneration of beardedness, or a celebration of contusions? The raucous camps worked themselves into a frenzy until silence was called.

The leader rose, and for a brief moment I could finally see the center of the tumult--the man I was searching for, Just… Ryan.

With the power invested from this unholy group, the leader pronounced a new name:

“HAIRY SPRINGER”

And just like that, Ryan was gone. ​

***

This case still gnaws at me. Was it his choice? Was he provoked? How did he find himself hurled into this pit, this cult, this unnatural hoard?

The night began at the coolest bar ever! It had a orange cat who spent his/her time sleeping and scratching the shit out of me. I loved every second of the sadism. However what was almost just as cool was that this would be Pounded in the Cans first ever hared trail for the BFM! She now truly is ours, Pittsburgh! Her co-hare happened to be our new RA and past GM, Fort Dixalot. Together they laid one epic trail filled with butt slaps and paintings of vegetables.

The group gathered outside for circle, where Egg Fucker introduced us to the one and only CONE OF SHAME/ SILENCE. Unfortunately Egg Fucker and the CONE OF SHAME/SILENCE did not make it on trail so instead Emo Kid found us a new CONE OF SHAME/SILENCE that was just a tad dirtier and may or may not have been covering a manhole or something. The Cone was not the only thing forgotten on trail that night either. We all made sure to shame Ass Ass 'Nation for forgetting our horn. Too bad we didn't have the CONE OF SHAME/SILENCE to perch upon her head. Slothy Seconds showed up late too but we forgave her because she's a sloth and all. At circle besides the usual marks, we had marks for shot quests and butt checks. I'm still confused to why the butt check mark is a 'W'.

Once we headed off into the abyss of Poplar we hit our first song check only to butcher the lovely "Jack the Necrophiliac". I teared up as symphony of voices screeched out loud at various intervals. I may have also teared up because it was cold as my non-existent balls and dick outside too. Luckily we hashers are some smart people and began to jump to keep warm because penguin huddles are over rated now. I'm happy to say "El Camino", started by Silence of the Goats and Sex Toys for Tots was a bit more successful. On our way to the shot quest I passed a lovely muggle who wished me a happy birthday and inquired to why a bunch of people were running in 20 degree weather. I believe this statement was meant for 60k9, but I understand the mix up.

Our shot quest wasn't much of a quest, as it was more of a shot near. Was it the best shot quest ever though! We downed jello shots and half frozen gummy bears soaked in god knows what. During this time we learned that Silence of the Goats is indeed a tooth doctor, know matter what she or the medical board of Pennsylvania says. Some were skeptical most likely due to goats confirming she does not indeed Vajazzle*.

Back on trail Emo Kid showed all of us off as he sprinted past while smoking what I assumed were Camel Crushes. At this time Judge Doody and I were debating a Just's name. Judge Doody insisted it was Eugene. It was not Eugene. However this reminded me of the Hey Arnold! character, Eugene*. You know who's the Eugene of hash I realized in that moment? Goats. Goats is Eugene! It all made sense now. We still don't know that Just's name to this day. While she may be klutzy, this didn't stop Goats and Bitch $hots from giving me a double ass slap. It was the highlight of my year so far, along with teaching Goats what Goating* was as well. I told her she was going to make up half of my trash. I also danced by myself to some lovely music coming out of a random building.

As we trekked on to our Beer Near, Orgy almost killed her dog Suki, in which she declared is why she does not have children. Suki is one tough pup though and made it by the hair of the dog! As we arrived to our Beer Near we soon discovered it was a green house in which a homeless person had been squatting in, according to Pounded in the Can. While I never like intruding rudely into someones home, I was very cold and wet. I had somehow spilled water all over myself and my notes while running. Perhaps I'm the Eugene of the group... I chuggwed half a beer with my fellow hashers as we explored our new abode. There were not just dead vegetables, which What What assumed were spinach but had too much common sense to eat, as suggested by myself. Stacked in the back of the green house, we discovered paintings of every vegetable and fruit possible. I pretended to deep throat a cucumber while holding a peach painting in front of my vaj hasher style. What What and I tried to figure out what a parsippany was too. After further google research, i'm still not sure.

After leaving the green house we came across a fabulous playground with equipment that looked like it belonged in a torture dungeon. The medieval contraption even put a splinter in Bah Ram Him's ass. Then we were back in the Institution to warm up and begin circle! Accusations were thrown around like Donald Trumps tiny hands. Taintless Love was called out for what I personally thought was a very classy cut off t-shirt. With his nipples hard, it was hard to redirect my attention enough to see there was a jug labeled PCP on it. I was also feeling hot and heavy around Egg Fucker when I realized after staring at his crotch, that his zipper was undone. Accusation called. Along with these Ass Ass 'Nation was called out for digging up Silence of the Goats butt, Seamen on the Poop Deck for not wearing his usual turtle neck, and Bah Ram Him for not only puking on trail but losing his ID as well to Sex Toys for Tots. Hah! Who's the Where's my D now? What What (or should i say Runner Girl) took this time to also announce her Fat Boy trail on March 12th and Taco Tuesday March 7th. We did a side-side with 60k9 for his birthday and circle was closed with Jumping Ryan ceremoniously turning into a chicken.

If you have gotten this far than bless your little heart! See you half-minds soon!

A triumphant start for the new mismanagment under Sex Toys for Tots. A crew some are already calling "Legendary":

February ninth marks a new day in hash history as the highly anticipated 2017 Mismanagement mismanaged their first hash. It is only fitting the that the Chinese calendar would fall on the year of the cock for this crew. What a glorious test of the unwavering resolve of our new mismanagement as they were struck with every kind of disaster one could think of.

The sky opened up that morning as the gods decided to start their test of worthiness. White stuff you try to catch in your mouth descended from the sky in dumpster loads. Although the first test was cumbersome and claimed a few of our mismanagement and some of our disciples, our more faithful zealots braved the wintery weather and made the 3598 km hike to the designated rendezvous. Amongst those lost, Fort Dixalot and Slothy Seconds (our current and former religious advisors), were the hardest felt losses. A few Hashers entered the rendezvous point, The Field House, early and raised mugs and danced in the honor of those who have sacrificed their hash for us. After Goose, Goats, 60k9, Taintless love, Sex toys and just Micah had completed the honor ceremony they quickly devised a war plan for the upcoming test and awaited the arrival of fellow hashers.

The wind howled outside with a piercing scream as the gods reminded us what was in store beyond those rattling gates. Hashers started to pile into the field house as more and more worried looks began to be tossed around. Those looks of course were from patron strangers who understood that once we left we may not return. As the time approached and morale was starting to waiver, we were corralled outside where our surviving RA,Post traumatic goose disorder, met us with a warm hearty monster truck “ WELCOME WELCOME WELCOME”. Immediately spirits began to lift up as he described the Trail that our advanced party , Pantyfile and Sox to Be You, had laid out for us. Hope soared as we gave faith that they had found the safest and shortest route to our rewarded destination of more alcohol…...back at the Field House……..but we didn’t overthink it.

As we we set out on trail, Mismanagement struggled to keep the crew Whole. Short handed as they were they nearly lost one of their foundation members to a vicious hash crash. Turning the corner, Taintless love, hit a patch of magic invisible ice where he came crashing with all his might down to the earth. Due to his quick reflexes and all around awesomeness, he was able to recover swiftly without damage. This was fortuitous, for losing Taintless Love would surely spell the BFMs demise. The crew then realized the dangers and toils they may face ahead. After many false trails ending confusingly with a tennis ball, Taintless was able to deduce that the Hares had marked false trails by simply throwing tennis balls covered in flour. They really dropped the ball. Their slight of hand revealed we were able to move along quicker. Our journeys lead us to a dangerous land where creatures only existed with half heads. Thinking quickly, Goose covered half of his head and hid amongst them distracting and confusing the creatures allowing us the ability to sneak by. We moved so quickly compared to them it was almost as if they were mannequins. Goose couldn’t have reacted at a more crucial time as Goats and Taintless were all mixed up.

Emotions ran high as lives were changing that fateful night. Our brave and humble leader alleviated his guilt upon Taintless shoulders. He confessed he had all the pictures of the shirtless guys at our hash in a personal folder named “Not my masturbation folder. Seriously.” and that Taintless was 56% of it. Taintless then in turn admit that he had an extra warm face mask the whole time that Sex Toys could’ve borrowed. After 4 gruelling Miles to the first meet up with hares, We refueled our muscle engines with dependable bud light and berated the hares for being absolutely terrible. This was quite the shitty trail. As morale dipped dangerously low the again quick reflexes of Taintless roared a warning to a group of hashers who were almost pulverized by a motorized vehicle. His warning allowed the hashers, specifically Pounded in the can, enough time to react.Another confusing terrible mile passed us by before we realized we probably know the way back to the Field house better then the hares.Our fearless GM sex toys, let out a bellowing cry “ COME WITH ME IF YOU WANT TO LIVE”. With no feeling left in our fingers we dug deep and followed him on the path to victory, and more beer! Seeing as how the hares had done bad and should feel bad, Goats beat them back to the rendezvous and pantsed Pantyfile who smiled and took it like expected.

Thanks to the tireless efforts of our new mismanagement, we suffered no further losses and the group finished whole. Celebrations immediately commenced as our Ra, with notes written on his hand like a teleprompter, Goose lead a vigorous circle with many accusations being directed towards the hares. It was not all finger pointing, Macguyver muff diver was whisked into a side side for the annual reminder of his birth. After circle was closed we brought a travel hasher into our fold and bestowed upon him our own BFM name. Much deliberation ensued but after a well organized democratic process conducted by the new mismanagement, a name was offered and voted on. From this day forth Upper Cunt shall forever at BFM be known as EL Poopa Cabra!